


five times Coulson takes care of Skye's injuries (and one time she takes care of his)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: ALL THE HURT/COMFORT, ALL the UST, Blood and Injury, Coulson and Skye really want to have sex with each other, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Future Fic, Gunshot Wounds, Healing, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage Proposal, Meaningful sex, POV Phil Coulson, Resolved Sexual Tension, Skye Needs a Hug, Skye is a proper field agent, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unusual Marriage Proposals, not Grant Ward friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2320835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's always been good at this, ever since the Academy. He's done it countless times, help fellow agents with their wounds. Somehow it's different with Skye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	five times Coulson takes care of Skye's injuries (and one time she takes care of his)

**1.**

It's different somehow.

He's done this a lot of times. He's been doing this since the Academy, since he learned he was good at it, specially good at it, taking care of other agents when on a mission. When injured. He's done it countless times with May. He's done it with Natasha, even when he thought she was going to bite him for it. Hell, he did it for Garrett many times. He even did it for Fury once.

This is different.

Focus normally comes easy to him in these cases. Focus is the one thing he's struggling with now.

"Are you okay?" Skye asks. "I can have Simmons look at it."

"No, I've got this."

Far away, removed, that's how he sounds to himself, it's probably what he sounds like to Skye. But he's very much here. He knows what he has to do. Clean the wound, apply the liquid. But he's stuck before the first step. He's stuck. He has his fingers wrapped around Skye's upper arm, holding the deep cut to the light, the slightly burnt edges, where the bullet left its bite. He's stuck, staring at the image of his hand curled around dark skin, feeling the warmth underneath like he is surprised a human being exudes heat. He realizes he hasn't touched her in months. He hasn't touched anyone in months. It's a shock to the system. This is different. He's stuck.

He cleans the wound in a kind of daze, his senses overloaded by her presence until he feels something shut down in an attempt at self-preservation.

"First time getting hurt on the field," Skye comments in a light tone. "I thought it would have happened sooner."

He knows she has gotten bruises and scraps before. He noticed them when they happened, even if he said nothing about it. He wonders if she had wanted him to say something about it. He is second-guessing everything these days, specially when it comes to Skye. To the point where it is easier to just stay away from her.

He grabs the liquid stitches. This is different. It shouldn't be. There's an agent and it's his agent and she is hurt and he can help. It has happened before. This shouldn't be different. Why is the presence of Skye, the pure physicality of a body that needs healing, bothering him so much? Making him useless when he should be helpful.

Skye makes a relieved sound when the cool gel touches her skin, a low and pleasant noise from deep within her lungs. The sound cuts straight through Coulson, goes to parts of him he doesn't want to acknowledge. He knows why this is different, why he is stuck.

Her faces relaxes after that, and now she looks tired and open, no longer pretending this is no big deal. Now her pain catches up with her expression.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

He watches her brow furrow. "I think this is the first time you've asked me that question in months."

"I think..." he hesitates. What can he do with that accusation, it's completely true. "I think we should bandage the arm, just in case."

She looks disappointed. He's getting used to that look. He turns away, just to avoid it. This he can do: taking out the bandages, taking care of her. Like any other body that needs mending. It's just a body like any other. Skye shouldn't be different. He learnt that in the Academy, all those extra classes, a body is a body is a body, blood and muscle and it doesn't matter if it's a colleague or a close friend. It doesn't matter that it is Skye this time. 

Except.

It does matter that it is Skye.

"Last time I got shot was a bit more dramatic, though," she jokes.

He doesn't want to remember.

He doesn't want to remember why it matters when it comes to her.

He grabs her arm again. The skin beneath his fingertips hums. Skye seems to mistake his hesitation for tenderness.

"All I had to do to get you to pay me some attention was get hurt," she comments, wistful, no malice. "Who knew."

"I'm sorry, I've been –"

" _Busy_?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I get that," she says, a bit sadder. "I get that it's hard work and it's taking a toll. But you know what would make your job a lot easier? Me. If you didn't push me away."

He lifts her arm so he can pass the bandage under it easier. It's still just a body, he tells himself. Just like they taught him in the Academy. Just like he has done many times, with colleagues and even friends, close friends, people he loved. This shouldn't be different.

He can't admit she's a distraction. He doesn't know why she is but today is proof of that. She is right, of course. She would make the days a lot easier. And that worries him.

This is different.

 

**2.**

"Jesus," he hisses at the sight of her back. He doesn't mean to. That's not helping, helping her. His panic won't help. He has to concentrate on the aseptic details –he _can't_ , it must _hurt_ – and the mechanics of how to help. The glass has gone through the fabric of her suit and t-shirt, she's going to have to undress somehow. The prospect shouldn't make him falter like this. "Maybe I should get Simmons to do it."

"Simmons has her hands full with May," Skye says, biting her lip and looking down, guiltily. May had borne the brunt of the explosion, trying to get Skye out of the way. "You can do this."

He can. Technically. Whether he feels like it or not the truth is he can.

He walks behind her, trying to figure out a way to approach this. The jacket he can take off, even without much difficulty. Skye writhes and swallows a sob of discomfort when he does. The sound makes Coulson want to run and grab Simmons, but Skye is right (she tends to be), she's busy and he should be able to do this.

It's not obvious how to proceed after this. He knows what he should do but he takes a minute because he can't bring himself to say the words.

"I have to cut your shirt. And your bra."

Skye takes a moment to process. He wonders if that means something, that she takes a moment.

"Fine," she says, and her voice is unusual. "I mean, well, _I'm hurt_. It's not the time for modesty. Right, sir?"

She gives it a little nervous chuckle and Coulson doesn't answer. He takes the scissors from one of the lab drawers, finds the pincers in another.

The t-shirt comes off in his hands easily and the blood is still wet so it's not too painful for Skye when he takes it off. But he can't unhook the bra because it's directly over the wounded area. He cuts the pretty purple fabric with the scissors, slipping the remnants off Skye's arms. He tries not to look. It's not the first time he has seen another agent half-naked while tending to their wounds, this kind of intimacy is not unusual on the field. It's not the time for modesty, he reminds himself, or a voice in his head does, a voice that sounds like Natasha Romanoff's and bittersweet memories and a time before Skye, when he could do this sort of thing in his sleep.

Now he has to make a conscious effort to remember what comes next.

"I can't anesthetize the area before taking out the glass, I'm sorry. This will hurt," he warns her. Perhaps he is warning himself too.

Skye nods and he can see her literally (the set shoulders, the firm stance) gathering her courage.

Getting the shards of glass out is not hard but it is a delicate operation. Coulson feels grateful for having something to do that requires all his focus. There's a couple of times Skye stops herself from wincing just in time, but other than that she doesn't move and she makes no sound. She makes no sound and she is turned away from him but Coulson can tell her cheeks are wet. Skye is silent when she cries. This is only the third time he has seen her cry like this (once when he told her about her origins, once when she told him about Ward kidnapping her, and this) but he seems to know that about her. 

He doesn't want to touch her more than necessary but when he finishes he brushes her shoulder in what he hopes is a gesture of comfort.

"That's done," he tells her, and her body relaxes almost imperceptibly. But he's close, too close, so he notices. "Now I just have to disinfect the wounds and put on some dressing."

He keeps talking like announcing what he's going to do could help him feel more detached. It doesn't.

She nods, still not talking. She probably doesn't want him to hear the tears in her voice. Skye has been hiding a lot since she became a proper field agent. Hiding from him. Coulson is in no position to judge her for that, he's been doing the same, but he wishes Skye didn't feel like she has to pretend in front of him.

He touches her neck to hold her still while he cleans the wounds. She shakes slightly under his hands. She has her fingers curled around the edges of the table. Coulson almost tells her that she can cover herself if she wants, she can move her arms. He doesn't know how to put that in a way that doesn't imply he's total scum. He tries not to look, but he notices, the shape of her breasts, the pink, messy splashes of the scars on her stomach. 

It's not the fact that she is half-naked under his hands, the images it evokes and shouldn't because she is hurt and she deserves better. It's not even the fragility of a body he knows can defend itself. He has seen her in action. There's nothing fragile about Skye's skills, about her commitment on the field. She is not a girl trembling in a lab table. She's not a girl trembling under Coulson's hands.

Perhaps it's his hands which are trembling.

 

 

**3.**

"It hurts," she says, mouth curled uglily around a whimper.

Skye never complains about pain, never. She makes jokes about it, at most. He has seen her in genuine pain before, but she has never heard her admit it. It terrifies him. It occurs to him that there might be something wrong with her.

"Are you talking about the arm or...?"

" _Everything_."

He doesn't reply. What is there to say? He takes out the bandages. He grabbed them blindly while they were trying to escape Raina's lab, noticing the cut on her arm. _Ward got me_ , she explained. _But I think I broke his wrist. May taught me how._ Trying to sound brave and proud. His brave agent. Coulson wished she didn't have to be. He has never felt like protecting her before today – but seeing those machines in there, knowing what they might have subjected Skye to. This is different.

They find a ruined building beyond the open space behind the lab, somewhere temporarily safe to hide in.

He helps Skye sit down, the pain from the wound making her dizzy for a moment.

"I've got you, I've got you," he tells her over and over, grabbing her elbows and catching her in a half-embrace. What does it even mean? He might as well be saying it to soothe himself. He didn't, he didn't. He let her get taken. Whatever he does now doesn't matter, it can't make up for the fact that he let her get taken.

He runs his hands over her face, her neck, checking her pulse.

"It's fine," she tells him, pushing his hand away gently. Gently or maybe she doesn't have enough energy to be firmer with him. "It's just the arm, nowhere else."

He wants to believe that.

But he saw the set up in that place. And he has spent the last few hours imaging worst cases scenarios (that is what he does, that is what he has always done, since the Academy, since he found out he was good at it, specially good at it, analysis of the situation, this shouldn't be different) and preparing himself.

"What about the experiments?" he asks. He's trying to do the best he can with the things he is able to stop – like her bleeding. He squeezes her arm when he asks, like he's pleading Skye not to tell him the truth.

"I don't think they did anything _permanent_ ," she tells him, voice breaking at the word. "They were just measuring my... reactions."

He feels sick, a bile and bitter taste in his mouth.

"And Ward?"

Skye shakes her head quickly, getting what he means. "It's okay. Raina wanted to start with the experiments _straight away_. I didn't really see him until I tried to escape."

She looks down at her arm. The blood is starting to seep into the fabric of the bandage already. He's a bit worried now. He can't wait until they are rescued, they have to move. The cut Ward gave her is just too deep, she's going to lose too much blood.

"We need to move."

She nods, absent-minded, his eyes glazed over.

"Skye, I need you to stand," he says, trying to sound calm. "Can you do that?"

"I think so. I'll try."

Skye grabs on to him to take impulse. She slips a bit as she stands, weak, and crashes into him, head resting on his chest. When Coulson tries to hold her up Skye doesn't let go, one arm around his waist pulling him closer, fisted into his shirt. She is sobbing against his bulletproof vest. At first he doesn't notice because she is so quiet, but then she starts shaking and he connects the dots.

"I've got you," he tells her and it sounds different from before.

That's when Skye starts crying more loudly, more freely, letting go.

He hugs her tighter, as tighly as he can, still careful of her arm, but desperate to comfort her.

"It hurts," Skye repeats.

And he can't do anything about it.

 

 

**4.**

The barbed fence got her on the left leg and now the inside of her upper thigh is covered in deep scratches and shallow cuts. 

Coulson watches her take off her pants and sit on the examination table by herself, legs wide open so that she can check the extent of her injuries. It's not too bad, he can tell from the door, troublesome more than anything, but it needs to be tended to. He doesn't mean to stare but for some reason Skye can't tell he's in the room. She's just wearing a white t-shirt and pale blue underwear. He shouldn't stare, she's an agent in need of medical assitance, she's a teammate in need of his help, and his mouth shouldn't go dry at the picture in front of him.

She finally notices him. "Oh yeah, help me with this."

She pushes the bottle of disinfectant towards him. Coulson hesitates. He wonders if Skye knows she looks like she can do that without his help. But he shouldn't be this harsh, this suspicious, she might be too sore or tired to do this herself. Or maybe she _can_ , but she'd rather leave it to more expert hands. This must be what she thinks of him: that he is good at this, that he is the person to turn to in these cases.

That's what he is going to do, he decides, conform to those expectations. He takes the bottle in his hands and some cotton swabs and he moves into her space. He has to stand between her legs to gain access. His jacket brushes against her knee and Skye pulls back a bit, startled by the touch, maybe bothered.

Her wounds are a combination of slight burns from the friction and cuts from the barbed wire. There's still more gravel from the fall so it needs some cleaning first of all.

"You already took something for the infection?" he asks.

Skye nods, avoiding his eyes.

When he presses his thumb against the underside of her leg to get better access he discovers how hot her skin feels. His eyes are focused on the scratches and cuts, isolating bits and pieces until it feels safe to be touching Skye there.

He does manage to clean up the wound but Skye is stiff and uncharacteristically morose throughout it all. He guesses that even skilled field agents are not that happy to be half-naked in front of their boss. He watches her bite the inside of her cheek in discomfort.

"Skye, if you are uncomfortable..."

She shrugs. There's something hopeless about the gesture. She's still not looking at him.

"It's okay," she says. "Why would I be uncomfortable? I know you don't care if I'm in my underwear. So I shouldn't mind if you see me. I could be naked for all you care. You wouldn't even register it. I'm just nothing, right? Right? Come on, Coulson, tell me. Tell me I'm right. Put me out of my misery."

He stares at her. Is that really what she thinks? That he is completely indifferent to her? He _should_ be. He's not.

He grabs her hips, fingers digging a little too harshly, pulling her against him until their mouths are smashed together and he's not sure whose tongue gets the upper hand because they are both pushing, pushing. Hers finally slides inside Coulson's mouth, right about the time her arms come up around his shoulders and her legs wrap around his waist, squeezing. He's pretty sure the friction of his suit against the wounds on her leg is painful but Skye doesn't seem to mind enough to want to stop and Coulson _should_ care but he doesn't.

She breaks the kiss for a moment. "I thought..."

She shakes her head like she can't believe this is happening. She makes a fist into the fabric of his jacket and pulls, coming up to kiss him again, forcefully, like she is trying to make sure this is real. Her mouth burns him. Coulson lets his jacket fall to the floor while Skye pushes herself to the edge of the table. He wraps his hand around her left thigh. There's barely any layer of clothing on her and when he moves his hand upwards he can tell how wet she is. His other hand grasps at the base of her skull and press her up into the kiss, even though she's leading him.

Skye lets out a muted moan when his fingers press into her, pushing her underwear to one side, and Coulson can't pretend this is happening too fast because the truth is this has been happening very, very slowly. He curls his fingers inside her, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted as he does.

" _More_ ," she whines, wistfully, against his lips and Coulson understands what she means. He helps her up as she takes off her panties in a moment and then he takes her hands in his and presses them against his belt, letting Skye do the rest, letting her pull at his pants and boxers messily, letting her discover how hard he is. 

He lets her touch him as his hands slide under her shirt to cup her breasts through her bra. He remembers what those breasts look like, the perfect shape of them, and he should feel ashamed for it, but instead he just starts begging, feverish words, into her mouth, her cheek, the curve of her neck. "Please, please, please," and hitched variations of her beloved name until her fingers curled around his cock guide him inside her.

He doesn't know how long it is before they are both coming, together and desperatedly. It feels like just a heartbeat, really, too short a time, too short for how long Coulson would have liked to stay here, inside Skye's warmth, moving with her while her mouth never stops kissing him.

When it's all over they look at each other in disbelief, spent. Skye is panting, her lips pink and thoughroughly kissed, a flush on her cheeks Coulson has never seen before. And her smile – her smile is _too much_ and he has to drop his gaze.

There's blood all over the side of his bare hip.

Skye points at the inside of her thigh, chuckling. "Yeah, I guess you need to clean that again."

"Don't worry," he tells her, darting his fingers over the injured area and leaning to kiss her mouth.

This is different, and he is finally okay with it.

 

**5.**

They find an empty bathroom in the building. SHIELD are the ones on the offensive this time so there's very little chance someone will come looking for them, and he needs to check out the damage. They have taken care of their main target, together, and they are free to retreat from here, the mission is, to all effects and purposes, done.

"It's okay," Skye says, her arm around Coulson's shoulder, when he tries to lower her down, gently, to the floor.

The place looks clean enough, thank god. He looks through the cabinets and manages to find a bit of gauze and a bottle of alcohol. He can feel the adrenaline in his mouth, buzzing in his head, but he is okay, he can do this. Skye needs him and he feels like he can help. He knees besides her, swift in freeing her from the tactical gear.

"Ah, shit," she complains when Coulson rolls off her top to reveal the wound to her right side. "It's okay, it's – it barely grazed me."

 _Barely_ is not the term he would use and he groans at her facade. They don't hide anything from each other these days. Skye touches her fingertips to the side of his head, mutters "sorry" because she knows what he means. It's not too bad, Coulson thinks, studying the wound, just messy, and the panic subdues a bit. He's not very fond of seeing Skye get shot. He applies the alcohol without much ceremony and Skye hisses at him, she's tense against him for a second, twisting her fingers into his shoulder. He doesn't hesitate.

It's a lot better now that they are sleeping together. Curiously enough he feels more capable to do stuff like this, patch her up. He is not stuck anymore.

"That better?" he asks, once the gauze is in place and it looks like the bleeding is stopping.

Skye nods, makes a low growly noise. "Mm-uh."

He presses his fingers gently against the skin around the wound. Skye writhes, but not in a bad way.

"The way you touch me when you are patching me up... It has always driven me crazy," she explains, in that voice he recognizes but suspects very few people have gotten to hear.

"It shouldn't."

"Tough," she tells him, leaning and pressing her mouth to his for a moment. It's brief and would be almost chaste except for the fact that it's really really not. She tastes a bit of blood and Coulson licks her lips as he pulls away.

He looks around, at the locked door. The door couldn't stand an attack, but he very much doubt they are under attack anymore. He sighs, feeling constrained by his clothes, his own body. Skye does that to him.

Now she touches her thumb across his wrist, the hand he's keeping pressed against her side.

"I love your hands," she says, out of the blue.

This can't go anywhere good, Coulson realizes, swallowing hard, because, yeah.

" _Skye_."

"I know we are in the middle of a mission and this makes me a horrible, horrible field agent," she says. "And I know this is probably why we have protocols against teammates hooking up but to tell you the truth, _sir_ , I really really want your fingers inside me right now."

He almost chokes at the wave of desire those words raise in him. It's all he can do not to take off her pants and do whatever Skye wants him to.

"We _are_ in the middle of a mission," he reminds her.

"Come on, Director," she leans against the tiled wall, her legs pressed around him. "Tell me none of this is turning you on."

He gives her a blank stare, because he doesn't trust himself with any other kind of stare. Skye has found him out, she has been revealing his most shameful secrets one by one.

"Skye," he tries again. Weaker now.

"We could..." she gestures around the bathroom, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him towards her. She kisses that spot on his neck she knows always makes him chuckle.

He chuckles.

Coulson would never admit that he considers it. For a moment he really considers it.

"Skye, Skye," he chants for no real reason, he just likes saying her name. "We can't, it's dangerous."

And she is smart and professional enough to know he is right, or _probably_ right, but she still pouts a bit.

"But you owe me one," she tells him.

He rubs his thumb against her navel, teasingly, as a gesture of agreement. "Of course. When we get home."

They are very close together, and Skye presses her knees against his sides.

"I'll take you up on that," she warns. "I'll get Simmons to give us the afternoon off on medical orders and I'm not going to let you out of my room until tomorrow."

That sounds like the best plan Coulson's ever heard, he wonders why he ever makes different ones. Even with her injury he's sure Skye will come up with something spectacular. And the idea of spending the day locked in her room, with her stuff, smelling of her...

"I'm going to go down on you for hours," he tells her.

"Promises, promises."

"I am," he goes on, hand wrapped around her wrist, body pressed against hers on the cold bathroom floor. "But I'm not going to let you come. I'm going to use my tongue and my fingers but when you are right on the edge I'm going to stop, leave you there, over and over, and I'm going to make you beg until you are too sore to speak."

Skye blinks at him. Then she snorts.

"And I'm the unprofessional one."

 

 

**6.**

"You are not a young man anymore," Skye says, touching her fingers to his nose.

"I know that."

She prods a bit more, a bit too careful.

"Well, it's not broken," she concludes. "You're not going to get boxer-handsome, I'm sorry."

He knows she has been terrified, and he appreciates the levity, he really does, but everything kind of hurts right now. The broken arm, the cracked ribs. And yes, there's an intensely uncomfortable throbbing of pain in his nose. He should feel a lot more ridiculous, sitting in his boxers in the middle of the lab, looking like a foolish old man, but there's only Skye here, taking care of him, pressing a piece of gauze to the cut, and it's not ridiculous. It's warm and like something he has never felt before in his life. Something he was missing. He feels safe. Despite the beating he has just received, he feels safe.

Simmons took care of the urgent stuff – his arm – but left the rest to Skye. He didn't know she could do this so well. This normally works the other way around; she's the field agent, Coulson is normally waiting in the base until the op is completed. He is used to her getting hurt. It's not easy, but it's easier because he trusts her skills. But Skye is not used to seeing him like this. She is trying to be cheerful, useful, but there's something strangely pensive about her face right now.

"You can't go around picking fights with my father," she tells him, as she examines the bruises on his side. He watches her wince at the sight, heart of her sleeve. He doesn't want to look, squeamish, the skin on his chest probably black and blue.

"I wouldn't put it like that," he argues. "It was more like I wanted to talk and your father decided to beat me up within an inch of my life."

"I know, I'm sorry. Apparently this wasn't supposed to go like this."

"What?"

"Me," she tells him. "I wasn't supposed to... Being around humans rewrote my biology, as a preservation mechanism. I wasn't supposed to be this human. He feels it's shameful."

"You are human. What's in your DNA doesn't matter."

She stops what she is doing and looks at him.

"I think we should get married," she says.

Coulson does a double take.

"What?"

"Think about it. My father can't stand the idea of me being human. Imagine how pissed he'd be if I married one."

She sounds very reasonable. He is a bit offended at the lack of manners, but also irreprehensibly touched by the offer.

"And that's the only reason why you are asking me to marry you?" he asks.

Skye rolls her eyes. "Of course not. Don't be an idiot."

He takes her hand in his, scrapping his fingers sweetly across her palm.

"Is this something you'd be interested in?" he asks. "Marriage? A family? We've never talked about it."

"I know it's something you want," Skye says.

"Do you? Because a lot of things have happened since I thought that's what I wanted. We almost died a couple of times. I almost went insane. And now this."

"And what do you want now?"

He kisses her. An accurate answer. She tastes a bit like she smells, of disinfectant. He likes it, the feeling of safety and carefulness it brings. He is in her hands. He has never wanted to be anywhere else. Not like this, anyway. Everything about Skye is different, and he is different when he is around her.

"I don't think you should make that kind of decisions right now," he tells her, threading his one good hand through her hair.

She looks taken aback. "You think I don't mean it."

"I know you mean it but... seeing your father again, like this. Of course it has made you long for a family of your own."

Skye rests her hands on his knees, her expression suddenly serious and resolved.

"I already have a family of my own," she tells him, looking into his eyes. "You are my family."

He can't help but smile. Everything hurts, the broken arm, the cracked ribs, the nose, but everything hurts a bit less.

"More important than that," Skye cuts the moment short. "I've got something amazing for your broken ribs."

She leaves him for a moment, tapping her fingers on his knee. He watches her as she searches the drawers.

"It's kind of a new thing," she holds out the gel. "Simmons made it. She's a serious multi-tasker, that one. She told me it would help."

She applies a generous amount to the bruised area.

He leans his head on her shoulder, letting her work, clenching up a bit when first he feels the cold liquid. The gel works its magic and in a moment he feels like he can take a deep breath without wishing he had never been born. The gel works its cool magic and also Skye's hands and their hypnotic rhythm rubbing the area.

"Mmm, that feels good."

"You like that?" she asks, with a hint of mischeviousness in her voice. It's a question she has put forward many many times, when they are alone.

Coulson closes his eyes and throws his head back a bit. She's good at this. Her hands – they are confident and he believes they can do anything.

"You know I do."

They spend some time like this; Coulson with his eyes closed while Skye rubs her fingertips soothingly over his skin until the touch becomes about intimacy and not about healing. It's comforting but it's also everything else. She moves her hand from his ribcage to his stomach, and up the line of his scar, which she draw carefully. He writhes in his seat at that, a bolt of complicated pleasure moving through his spine. It hurts to breathe, but it hurts a little bit less.

"I'm sorry," she says, resting her hand carefully over the plaster cast on his arm. "I know it hurts."

"It's going to be fine," he tells her.

She nods, but there's something sad in her eyes. He knows what she feels about him getting hurt. And she thinks this time it's her fault.

She kisses his bare shoulder, leaves her lips there, her hot breath against his collarbone until Coulson feels a bit overwhelmed by what he knows she is feeling right now. There's no telling her it's not her fault. All he can do is trying to get her out of her own head right now. She's taken care of him, maybe he can take care of her now. He cups her face with one hand.

"Hey," he says. "Correct me if I'm wrong but I believe you proposed to me a few minutes ago."

"I did," she says, arching an eyebrow. "But you're not in the mood to listen. I guess I'll try again later."

"Promise?"

She nods, and there's nothing sad in her eyes.

She takes his face in her hands and presses her lips to the wound on his nose, softly.

It almost doesn't hurt at all.


End file.
